


31 October 1981

by thewintersgo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1981, Angst, Halloween, M/M, Marauders' Era, first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewintersgo/pseuds/thewintersgo
Summary: Tensions reach a breaking point, and Remus and Sirius have their last argument.





	

The room had no windows, but Remus could tell from the wind howling and the rain drumming on the roof that the storm showed no signs of slowing. His battered suitcase took up most of the bed, and he shifted it over, making space so he could sit on the hard mattress. He sighed, kneading his eyes with the tips of his fingers. A dim lamp flickered on the bedside table onto a piece of parchment, unfolded but heavily creased, with instructions written in thick, looping script.

 _Greyback. Tomorrow. The woods. Sundown,_ he thought over and over, methodically reciting it for the hundredth time. The thought of meeting Greyback made him feel ill, but Dumbledore’s orders outranked personal trauma.

A loud crack broke his concentration and he flinched, instinctively reaching for his wand before putting it down again. _Just lightning. No one’s here._

He felt uneasy, though, and listened attentively — underneath the sounds of the storm, he heard something else: someone rattling the doorknob, murmuring a spell, swearing. Wand at the ready for real this time, he leaned against the wall of the bedroom, heart racing.

A click sounded at the door. Remus braced himself for the worst: the werewolves, Death Eaters, Voldemort himself —

Sirius Black, soaking wet, stepped in and closed the door before folding up his penknife and putting it back in his jacket pocket. He shook his hair out to dry and ran a hand through it to pull it away from his face.

“Remus,” he breathed, hugging him tightly.

Sirius’ touch momentarily made Remus forget every terrible thing in the world. He breathed in the smell of rain and leather and cologne. If he closed his eyes, they could be in their flat, listening to records as they cooked dinner. But they weren’t in their flat, he remembered, as a crash of thunder from outside pulled him back to reality.

“You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe here,” Remus said, pulling away with a mixture of anger and relief at Sirius’ arrival.

“I had to, Moony, I had to. It’s not safe anywhere, anyway. London’s getting more dangerous by the minute, there’s all sorts of rumours—” he began to pace, “people talking about, about _Voldemort_ and _traitors,_ and I came to bring you home. You shouldn’t be out here alone. I’m worried for you.”

Every part of Remus yearned to Apparate home with Sirius, to leave behind the rickety shack in the middle of nowhere, but Dumbledore’s voice echoed in his head: _“A special mission...uniquely suited...a ready-made spy...”_

He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “I can’t, Pads. I’m needed here.”

“' _Here’?_ ” Sirius asked. “What’s ' _here_ ’? There’s _nothing_ here, what Order business could possibly be in — what, the outskirts of Newcastle...?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Remus said firmly. They’d had this same argument before. “Dumbledore’s —"

“ _Dumbledore’s orders_ , I know,” Sirius interrupted, with a twinge of frustration. “There are lives at stake though, Moony, James and Lily—”

“—are under a Fidelius Charm, and safe for the time being.”

“How can you talk like that about your _friends?_ ” Sirius burst out. “So cold and analytical — they’re in _danger_ , and Harry too, and you’re willing to just _trust_ that no one has turned them over to Voldemort?”

“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t think about that every waking moment — about how at any second everything could fall apart?” Remus shuddered at the thought. “I’m terrified, Sirius, you know that. I wish it could be different, I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t. There’s too much at stake.” He thought about grasping Sirius’ hand, but clenched his fists instead.

“I’m just saying — there’s a lot of dodgy stuff happening, and keeping secrets doesn’t look good.” Sirius wouldn’t meet Remus’ eye.

Cold realisation washed over Remus. 

“Me. You think it’s me. You think that I’m the one who’s turned traitor.” Remus felt as though he was going to be sick.

“How would I know otherwise when you won’t tell me anything?” Sirius shot back.

“Sirius, you know damn well why I can’t tell you anything. If I could, I would, you have to believe me.” 

“Why should I believe you when you don’t even _trust_ me? _Me_ , Remus!” He beat a hand against his chest roughly, angrily. “I’ve lied for you, I became an Animagus for you, I _love_ you, I’ve done everything I can for you and you’re _lying_ to me!” 

“I trusted you once and it almost got people killed, so you can see why I’m hesitant,” Remus said coolly. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not betray his emotions on his face. Saying the words felt like he’d been stabbed, and the look on Sirius’ face was the twist of the knife. This was dangerous territory now — old wounds that never really healed.

Tears shone suddenly in Sirius’ ash grey eyes, narrowed with anger.

“Well, we can’t all be as good at keeping secrets as you, _werewolf_ ,” he spat. “Forgive me if I’m not as well-trained in the art of lying — I haven’t had a lifetime of practice.”

Remus had gotten the reaction he wanted — Sirius’ unbridled, reckless anger — but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. He knew Sirius was capable of cruelty, he’d seen it in school, but to have it directed at _him_ was something new and excruciating. 

He swallowed thickly in an effort to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“I have nothing more to say to you. You asked me what I’m doing out here, I told you it’s work for Dumbledore. If you don’t believe me, fine. Leave. Now.” His voice nearly broke on the last syllable, but he hoped Sirius was too angry to notice. 

They locked eyes one last time until Sirius turned resolutely and stormed out of the shack, slamming the door behind him. Another loud crack confirmed his departure, and Remus sighed as he collapsed to the floor, a sob ripping its way from his chest. His wand clattered and rolled away, forgotten — he laughed miserably at the thought of someone coming in to ambush him and being met with a weeping, wandless werewolf, too overcome by emotion to even fight back. A small part of him almost wished they _would_ come. The image of Sirius’ face before he left was seared into his mind — no matter how tightly he closed his eyes, Sirius was there. _Werewolf_ echoed in his ears, the first time Sirius had ever used it as an insult. He deserved it, he had _asked_ for it by provoking him, but it hurt like nothing else had ever hurt before.

A crack sounded outside and his heart stopped, thinking it was Sirius — they could apologize, things would be fixed, he could tell Sirius he didn’t mean it and promise to come home after tomorrow — but after several minutes of waiting and hearing only the rain outside, he accepted the truth: that it was only lightning this time, and Sirius was not coming back.

He felt hollow.

He slept there on the floor, curled against the wall, until he was awoken by the sounds of an owl’s beak pecking determinedly at the door. 

He blinked hard, his eyes bloodshot and stinging. After locating his wand, he stumbled to the door and opened it, finding a tawny barn owl with a folded letter tied to its foot. He knelt and took it, furrowing his brow — who would run the risk of sending him a letter? 

The moment he unfolded the parchment, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

He read the letter twice, three times, four times, and still only absorbed the bare minimum of Dumbledore’s message — _Godric’s Hollow, Voldemort, Lily and James dead, Harry is safe, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, traitor, Azkaban._

_Dead. Sirius Black. Traitor._

Every part of him was on fire.

 _This is what dying feels like_ , he thought suddenly — it was a thought he had had many times after the full moon, but he meant it now, he was sure of it this time.  

He stayed on the floor, letter clutched in his white-knuckled hand, for what felt like a thousand years.

Everyone he loved was gone, and the person he had loved the most had done it.

The hollow feeling, he realized, was permanent.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading fic for over fifteen years and writing for almost as many, but this is my first time ever posting any of it! This has been reworked to death for almost a year and I figured Halloween was as good a time as any to finally finish it. It's technically not been betaed, but I've had a lot of help from some wonderful people. 
> 
> Endless thanks to Michaela for staying up until the sun rose many a time to talk about how frustrated I was with this fic and its six alternate endings that still live in my Google Drive Fic Graveyard, and to Marianne for late-night nitpicking and helping with my meteorological crisis (i.e. "i can't remember if it's thunder or lightning that cracks!!! or both!!!").
> 
> I can be found on tumblr at medium-alison! Also, I'm going to jail for Flagrant Overuse of Em-Dashes. Sorry about that.


End file.
